


when i said it i thought it was true

by angrylizardjacket (ephemeralstar)



Series: I'm Gonna Have Myself A Real Good Time [4]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018) Actor RPF
Genre: Cross-Posted on Tumblr, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 08:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17383085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeralstar/pseuds/angrylizardjacket
Summary: aka: The One Who Got Awaybased on the following prompts: "could you do an imagine where ben is the reader’s ex and they are somehow working together on the set of bo rhap and they fall in love all over again ☺️ could you make it angst-y and then end with fluff?" and "could you do an imagine where the reader is in bo rhap, maybe playing as one of roger’s gfs or something and she kind of falls in love with ben while filming the scenes with him as roger 💖 very fluffy pls :D"





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super AU version of BoRhap being filmed in the fic. There’s gonna be another part, that will fill the prompts better. This might end up being a series. I hope you enjoy. Feedback would be nice.

When your manager rings you, telling you that you’d landed a part in the Queen Biopic  _Bohemian Rhapsody_ , you were  _elated_. Freddie Mercury was a bit of a personal hero of yours, and to be a part of his story on the big screen, it was sort of a dream come true. 

In your first meeting, you sign a nondisclosure agreement, and you’re given the latest draft of the script to start learning, as well as a character brief. The script calls your character ‘ _Amanda’,_ the girlfriend of Roger Taylor who he eventually realises he wants to settle down with. You’d seen pictures of young Roger Taylor, you wouldn’t lie, you were excited for the role. Honestly, even today he was still quite a fox.

The point is, you were excited to have a fun time on set with a pretty blonde, make some new connections, and earn some good money. Some  _really_ good money.

The other shoe drops when you’re flicking through Instagram, and one of the stan accounts you follow has posted a leaked screenshot of the proposed cast list, and there’s your name, right beside the name of the last person you wanted to pretend to be in love with. Ben Hardy; pretty blonde extraordinaire, and your ex-boyfriend.

The table read is… awkward. 

The two of you are sat next to each other, and barely spoke two words to each other. You feel unprofessional the whole time, but you’d rather be anywhere else in the world, and the delivery of some of your lines falls a little flat. The director casts a concerned look between yourself and Ben as you rattle of what’s meant to be banter like you’re reading the news paper.

“They’ve got no damn chemistry; it’s like watching a celebrity divorce hearing.” When the Director vents to one of the producers in the hall outside after the reading, you manage to catch it where you’re just about to come out of the bathroom.

“They’ll be better on set, I promise, it’s just jitters.” She tries to soothe his nerves, and they’re off soon after, and you’re left with a cold, sinking sensation in your stomach.

* * *

“ _You’re Y/N, aren’t you? How are you finding the set?” The guy who greets you on your first day on the Eastenders set smiles with such casual ease it feels like you’ve known him for a while, instead of having just met him._

 _“Yeah, that’s me.” You agree with a quick nod, rocking back on your heels as you gaze around the space, trying not to look at him for too long. “It’s a bit overwhelming.” Actually, what’s overwhelming is that he’s talking to you. He’s Ben fucking Hardy, pretty-boy on the soap-opera scene, and he’s_ talking  _to_ you _on your_ first day _._

_“Yeah, you’ll be right though; if you need any help or anything, just give us a yell, yeah?” And you realise he probably doesn’t know who you’re playing, or how you’re involved in that Season’s arc, but you certainly did.  
_

* * *

_“_ I didn’t know you could play drums.” You’re trying to be casual when you say it, but you see Ben tense where he’s sitting on a sofa in the rehearsal room, script and pencil in hand.

“I can now, that’s all that really matters.” He’s giving off such strong ‘ _please leave me alone’_ vibes that it almost hurts, and you have to push through the knot in your stomach and sit down next to him.

“Ben, we need to at least be civil.” You say quietly, and he looks at you, expression a little forlorn.

“Y/N, we are civil, and we’ve done this before. Let’s just keep it professional, okay?” His tone leaves little room for argument, and you nod in agreement with a small smile, and pull out your phone, waiting for the rehearsal director.

* * *

“ _Hey there, baby, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here; I know I’d recognise your face.” You purr, running your hand delicately over the collar of Ben’s shirt, as his eyes widened and he spluttered to form a sentence, just as the script had told him to._

_Your character was more a plot device than anything, when Ben’s character is at a low point, his main romance is on a break, and he meets you, a temptress in all black. Your job is to give his character a realisation, he starts as your cocaine dealer when his supplier can’t make the drop, and he falls for you. Depending on the audience reaction, you knew the producers were waiting to see if they kill you off or have you recover from your addiction. The point is, your fate’s uncertain at the end of the Season, and Ben’s character realises he has to get out of the drug trade._

_“I’ve got something for you, from Oskar. Can we go somewhere more private?” When he speaks, it’s with surprising confidence, and he steps up from the bar stool and into your space, smiling as your face lights up. The director calls cut after a moment, and you step back, smile sliding to something genuine as an assistant comes in and straightens your loose, black silk shirt, and they reset the shot for a new take.  
_

_“Ben, could you try_ less  _flustered? You’re here to deliver drugs, you’re not a schoolboy.” The director’s voice was kind as she came up to the two of you, and Ben agreed easily before she turned to you. “Great job, Y/N, don’t be afraid to be more even more forward, if you feel it.” As soon as you nod in understanding, she absconds, and you half laugh._

_“If I was any more forward I’d be in your lap.” You snickered, voice quiet as you dipped your head to hide how you were faintly flustered. Ben was quiet, just watching you for a moment, but before you noticed, the director called for everyone to standby.  
_

_“I’m after Maggie, do you know where I could find her?” Ben starts as soon as the cameras start rolling, brow furrowed as he leans across the bar to speak to the bartender, and that’s your cue to enter the scene.  
_

_“ _Hey there, baby, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here; I know I’d recognise your face.”_  And when you say it this time, he smirks back at you, a little cocky, and you can feel the way it makes your heart flutter and you know it’s not as fake as it should be.  
_

* * *

Before filming even starts, the producers have essentially forced you and Ben into bonding sessions which, if this were several years ago, would have just been dates. Now they’re awkward and tense, and you tend to bring heavily highlighted scripts.

“I saw you in that Wes Anderson movie last year. It was a really good performance, one of your best.” He offers over coffee. The idea that he’d kept up with enough of your work to label one ‘ _your best’_ has you a little shocked, and something in your heart warms as you thank him softly.

It’s gotten easier to hang around with him, and it’s even easier to pretend to be in love with him in rehearsals. It’s like riding a bike, how easy it is to let yourself smile and lean into him, to let the banter flow easily between the two of you, fond jabs that edge on insulting coming as easily as breathing.

Joe mentions that he thought the two of you worked together before, and when you reply that you’d dated for almost a year, he goes very quiet, eyes going wide. After a beat, he admits it explains a lot.

“X-Men did you real dirty.” You’re half paying attention to an interview with Roger Taylor that the two of you had been instructed to watch together. You’re both in his trailer, sitting on opposite ends of the sofa as you watch in almost complete silence.

“What?” He asks, after a beat, your words having taken a moment to process.

“Killing you off like that; they could have gotten so much mileage out of your character.” The way you say it is far too well thought out to be an idle thought. Ben smirked.

“You just liked the leather pants.” He muttered, but you’re silence is answer enough. You know he sees your embarrassed smile, but you can’t bring yourself to deny it.

* * *

_“Hey, do you wanna grab a drink after and go through notes and blocking and stuff?” You’re shooting your third episode, and you’re far more comfortable on set by now. Agreeing easily, you let Ben drive the two of you to what he claims is the best pub in town, and you sit in one of the more secluded booths to talk._

_It turns out he’s just as much a fan of you as you are of him; you’re known more for your bit-parts in long-running series, it seems like the only show you hadn’t been a part of so far had been Eastenders, it was only a matter of time. It’s an innocent night, true to his word, all you do is talk, and discuss the script. There is one part of the upcoming script that has you a bit nervous._

_“Listen, honestly just go for it; it’s not meant to be sweet or anything, I’m literally taking coke from you.” You tell him, fidgeting, and he’s hums thoughtfully.  
_

_“You sure? We can talk to the director, I’m sure-” He offers, but you laugh to hide your nervousness.  
_

_“Nah, let’s knock it out of the park, the script says go for it so just go for it.” You assured him, heart rate already quickening at the mere thought of it.  
_

_The next day, before the scene, the director comes over to talk you through it, making sure that if anything becomes uncomfortable, that you can talk to her. Both you and Ben assure her that it’s fine._

_“You’re far too cute for this line of work.” You say as you hold a baggie of “cocaine” up to the light, smile playing on your lips.  
_

_“_ Cute?  _Ouch, you really know how to wound a man, you know.” He says, leaning back against the sofa in the hallway of the grubby hotel your character was staying in. He’s watching you with interest, small smile playing on his lips._

_“Cute’s not a bad thing, baby, but you look like you should be making coffees or playing football in the sun, not here, not with me.” And you tap out a little of the powder onto your hand, pretending to snort it before you turn to him, his expression dark and hungry, and he kisses you, aggressive, almost desperate, and you lean into it, almost forget you’re playing a role with his hand on the back of your neck. When he lets go, when he pulls away, your eyes are still closed and you chase his lips for a moment. Eyes flickering open, you see him smirking down at you where he’s standing, and you both know it wasn’t entirely acting.  
_

_“You don’t know anything about me.” He growls, and you know you have to smile like you’re into it, like it’s a challenge, but instead, you duck your gaze, giving a small laugh and wiping at the nostril you’d just “snorted cocaine” through, before looking up at him through your eyelashes.  
_

_They call cut, and the director announces, almost a little awed, that she’s pretty sure they got the the take, actually says she’s not sure if she could getting a better take if they tried again. Ben seems_ far  _too pleased with himself._

* * *

“They want us to tell the public we’re together.” You’re resting your head on Ben’s chest laying at the back of the tour-bus set, and his hand is resting on your waist, which is bare for the crop top and booty shorts they’ve put you in.

“Yeah, I heard.” He replies, voice equally quiet. “I think we’ve got a meeting about it tomorrow morning.” Gwil and Rami are actually playing scrabble at the front of the bus, and Joe is talking to Singer, the director.

“It’s a bad idea.” You’re so frank that you feel Ben freeze, and you heave a sigh. “It’s good for the movie, but Ben…” You trail off, and you feel it when he forces himself to relax. “It wouldn’t be real, it would just be weird.”

“Y/N, we’re actors.” He says very pointedly, and when you turn, resting your chin on his chest, he looks tired, a little exasperated. “It’s just a business deal.” He assured, and you let out a low, thoughtful grumble. 

“We’ll discuss it tomorrow.” You allow, and he nods once, shifting to a more comfortable position, and you go back to resting your head on his chest, eyes fluttering closed as Singer called for the shot to be reset and a bunch of people came and straightened your clothes, and touched up your makeup, all without you having to move much.

You agree to the terms set forth in the meeting easily, the story being that your relationship rekindled on set, and that you were now madly in love, mirroring the relationship you were portraying on screen.

“Wait, does that mean-?” Ben leans forward in his chair, with his heart in his throat as he followed their logic, thinking through the plot of the movie. “Like engaged?” He asked.

“Seems a bit fast.” You agreed, voice level enough that someone might mistake you for calm rather than internally freaking out, and your managers shared a look.

“There will be a public proposal during or after the world premiere, that’s up to you both, and after the movie is out on DVD, you can go your separate ways.” They assured, but your mouth fell open.

“You know he left me for  _X-Men_ , right?” You splutter, and Ben’s eyes widen as he turns to you with a scoff.

“You’re the one who said the distance was too much for us while I was in Cairo.” He snapped, and you threw your hands in the air.

“I was offering to come and stay with you instead, but you said you were too busy!” That was enough to shut him up, his mouth snapping closed as he turned away sharply, huffing out a resigned sigh.

“We have a few brands and restaurants who are interested in sponsoring, and the producers are willing to increase both your salaries if you go through with it for the full duration.” Your manager informed you both carefully, and you and Ben shared a resigned look.

“Fake intend to marry me for like three months?” He asked, voice low and bitter, and after heaving a long sigh, you look to your managers,

“Fine.”

* * *

_“I think I love you.” Ben’s character shows up at your character’s door, and you open it in a silk robe._

_“Hello to you too.” You laughed, but he’s so serious, so sincere, and when he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t offer anything else, you step up to him, pressing your lips to his, and he wraps his arms around you, hands sliding against the silk over your hips, and you pull back.  
_

_“You’re too sweet for me, baby,” voice so low it’s barely a whisper, he’s the one who chases your lips this time, but your catch his chin, and his eyes open.  
_

_“You’re high.” He says softly, voice raw and a little desperate.  
_

_“And you’re my dealer.” You push him back gently, going to close the door and his expression turns angry.  
_

_“That doesn’t mean anything; I love you, Maggie.” His words hang heavily in the air, but before you can respond, they call for cut. You’re told to play it more like it hurts to try and turn him down, and you agree, smiling and nodding all the while. Everyone sets up for another take and you close the door._

_When you kiss him this time, his hands are holding your face, and you’ve got your arms around his neck, and it’s like the world falls away from around you. It’s not acting now, hasn’t been for weeks, almost months now, not since he’d asked you out officially. Every time you kiss him you’re desperate to drown in his embrace, and he kisses you like it’s just the two of you, no cameras, no scripts._

_“You’re-” and he cuts you off with another quick kiss, which has you laughing a little sadly, “Peter you’re too sweet for me.” He rests his forehead against yours, heaving a sigh._

_“I know you’re high.” He says gently, and you don’t push him away this time, just lean back, your finger lifting his chin.  
_

_“And you’re my dealer.” You tell him, expression falling.  
_

_“That doesn’t mean anything, that doesn’t matter;_ I love you _.” And you know that in that moment, the words mean so much more than the script, than these characters, than the show; he loves you. Ben loves you._

* * *

You avoid him, outside of filming, until you actually get a call from your manager telling you you’re contractually obligated to be seen in public together at least once a week. Even while filming you’re short with him, and he’s quick to get away from you the moment he doesn’t need to be around you, which was getting to be pretty bad, seeing as how you had been blocking a sex scene.

After the call, you and Ben get a drink. It’s awkward at first, though that’s unsurprising. After a long sip of his beer, he pats his thighs where he’s sitting in the armchair across from you. You make a face at him, shaking your head. 

“It’ll look less suspicious than if we’re shouting at each other across the table.” He hissed, and you groaned, obliging and crossing to sit yourself in his lap. He’s warm and secure, and he wraps his arm around you like it’s second nature. “Let’s not make this weird.” He said gently, and you nod.

“As for tomorrow’s shoot,” you said softly, leaning in to make sure no-one else heard, and he nodded, humming softly, “we’re professionals, and,” after a beat you cleared your throat pointedly, “it’s not like we haven’t done it before.”

“Not in front of a camera crew we haven’t.” Ben says with a smirk, and you snicker in agreement. “It’s gonna go fine; this is all gonna go fine, I promise.” And when you raise your eyebrows at him in surprised question, he just laughs softly, and brings you in for a chaste kiss. “It’s only until the DVD’s released.” He assures you, and you let your expression fall, already weary.

“Ben, that’s over a year away.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> continuation of the Fake Dating AU; enjoy

He calls you darling with his head between your thighs, and a camera over your shoulder, and you’re scripted to card a hand through his hair -  _you can barely look at that wig and keep a straight face -_  and just as you do, the door in the centre of the frame bursts open. The camera refocuses, and it’s Gwil in a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, announcing that the band had been played on the radio. After a beat, he stops, sees you scrambling to push Ben away and cover yourself, but he’s more excited at the news as he gets to his feet.

It’s a short scene, and once cut is called on the first take, and the crew take a moment to look over the footage. Like clockwork, people start moving around you, adjusting lighting, shouting technical jargon that you’ve learned to tune out over the years, and Ben sits on the edge of the bed as Gwil joins the pair of you, chatting with Ben about the football.

You’ve got a robe somewhere but you don’t bother with it, just wait as the scene is reset around you, and people come in and fluff the pillows behind you, and the camera angles itself a little lower as the sheet gets pulled off of you. You’re very glad that most of the crew are professionals, because they’ve got you in a pair of high-cut, surprisingly flattering cotton panties, and a tight, brown crop-top with a fringe that stops just above your stomach.

Gwil leaves and Ben leans back, his head pillowed on your thigh, and you gently kick him with your free leg, though it only serves to make him laugh. And then the cameras are rolling and Ben shifts so he’s laying on his stomach, his cheek resting against your thigh as he looks up at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

There’s a moment, seeing the way he looks up at you, part of you forgets it’s acting  _on top of acting_ , and you feel like you’re thrown back in time, leaning against his headboard as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, the room dark around you apart from the warm glow of the light beside his bed and-

The director calls action and you’re ripped from the memory. If it hurts, just a little, to see him smile at you again like that and know it means nothing, you try not to dwell on it. You smile back.

* * *

_“Do you have to get up? We’ve got the day off.” Ben wraps an arm around you pressing his forehead to your back, his voice still rough with sleep._

_“_ You  _have the day off.” You correct with a small smile, trying to sit up. He just tightens his grip, pressing a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Ben.” The way you say his name is a gentle warning, and you can feel him smirk, his lips against your back as he gives a hum of acknowledgement. “They want me on set in an hour and a half.”_

_“Come on, that’s heaps of time.” And he’s tugging at your hip. You take that as your cue to turn, fondly exasperated when you finally look at him. “So this one is…?” He prompts, small smile on his lips as he sees the way you’re playful annoyance turn endeared.  
_

_It’s something else to wake up next to him, his hair a curly mess, expression unguarded and affectionate in the morning light. The curtains aren’t open, but there’s a sliver of light peaking through a gap between them, and the light shines in, hitting the arm he’s got draped across you. The idea of Ben Hardy trying to keep you in bed, smiling at you like that, would have been laughable just a few months ago, yet here you were._

_“Midsomer Murders, they’ve got me playing a baker’s daughter who’s killed ‘cos she looks like some bloke’s ex.” You tell him quietly. There’s a moment of silence that follows, and you’re not even sure he heard you, a look in his eyes like the world outside could be burning and he wouldn’t even care if you’re by his side.  
_

_“Sounds like it’s right up your alley.” He mused, arm still around you, and you laugh at that. The sound makes his smile brighter.  
_

_“What the baker, being murdered, or looking like an ex?” You asked lightly, though you realise too late that it could be construed as some sort of twisted relationship test, thought he just chuckled, not reading anything into it.  
_

_“Finding yourself playing someone tragic.” He explained. He’s still smiling, but your own expression falls as you consider the weeks you had ahead of you._

_The producers of Eastenders had sat you down to explain that your character was going to overdose at the end of the Season, and be rushed to hospital. The survival of her was entirely dependant on the fan’s reaction to the character and the event, but even if she recovered, her romantic arc with Ben’s character would end. The fans wanted him back with Lauren, and the production team agreed.  
_

_“Do you think it’s weird that my characters keep getting killed off?” You asked, and he rests a hand on your cheek, thumb gently brushing against your cheekbone.  
_

_“‘course not, babe. Two is a coincidence, maybe start worrying about being typecast if it happens again.” He’s so gentle when he says it that you can’t help but smile back, leaning in to press your lips to his before getting up to start getting ready, and Ben grumbles without you by his side, but he’s smiling as he watches you flit about the room._

* * *

“You and Ben were together last time we worked together, right?” You and Gwil are the first two on set for the first day of shooting the Madison Square Garden after party. You’d just wanted to get their early knowing you’d have to spend a good deal of time in hair with the wig they had for you for the scene. 

“That was a while ago; surprised you even remember that.” You laughed, eyes closed where a makeup artist was busy applying eyeshadow. 

“Yeah, I forgot about it until the  _Interruption Scene,”_ he says, and you snicker, humming with agreement. The silence that stretches between you is a pleasant one. You’d been on quite a few episodes of  _Midsomer Murder_  with Gwil, enjoyed his company well enough, not that the two of you had really spoken back then, he’d been a lead and you had different bit-parts every time, and you hadn’t really kept in touch, but he was shaping up to be a good friend on set here.

“How are you two going now?” He asked, idly, watching your reflection as your lips were painted a bright red.

“Good.” You answer automatically, pausing to blot your lips before elaborating. “It’s- uh, honestly it’s weird being back together.” You cast an uncertain gaze to the makeup woman who was clearly trying to hide her surprise. 

“Good-weird?” Gwil asks, raising an eyebrow, and you hesitate. When your words come out next, they spill, too fast as if making up for the silence in which you had to actually think about the answer.

“Yeah, of course, it would be weird if it wasn’t, you know, good-weird.” After a beat, you took a deep breath, forcing your shoulders to relax. “All relationships are weird at first.” And you swallow, standing from your seat and heading into get your wig. Ben’s yawning as he steps past you to get to the makeup trailer, and you catch his wrist as he passes. 

“Hey.” Voice soft, you smile at him, trying to push down your sudden uncertainty. He looks a little confused, but his answering ‘ _hey’_ is kind and fond. He catches sight of a makeup assistant waiting for him, and he presses a quick kiss to your temple before making his way in.

It’s easy to pretend to love him. 

Almost as easy as it was to actually love him.

* * *

_“So are you gonna leave him once you leave Eastenders?” Maisie was rather blunt. She was one of the only people you talked to after having your production with her had wrapped, and that’s more so because she was a freelance production assistant for indie movies, and she’d let you know about upcoming projects._

_“What the hell, May, no.” You spluttered, and she rose her eyebrows leaning back and taking a long sip of her coffee. She’s judging you. She’s always judging you. It’s part of her charm, you learn not to be insulted.  
_

_“Oh, I thought it was just like, a publicity thing.” She admitted, and your brow creases in confusion.  
_

_“That’s fucked, that’s so disingenuous.”  
_

* * *

The two of you fit together so easily, sitting on a gilded love-seat in the middle of Freddie’s living room set. Ben’s got an arm around you and a prop glass of alcohol free champagne, and there’s extras all around you buzzing with energy. Every so often you’ll catch one of them watching you and Ben as if you’re some sort of spectacle, and you have that unique sinking sensation that comes with being a public figure; of everyone knowing your business whether you told them or not.

“I think they know.” You murmur in between takes, and he makes a hum of acknowledgement, before turning to you, expression neutral, if not a little confused. “I know, that’s the point.” You know what he’s trying to say without him having to say it, reading him even after a few years apart. 

“You wanna get dinner after this?” He asks quietly, and your expression turns reflexively confused.

“It’s already midnight, it’s not like anyone will expect us to be out, not that anything’s open.” You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he looked out at the crowd.

“We can go to Seven-Eleven for all I care, I just need to get food after this.” He muttered, and you suppressed a smile.

“So we’re putting it on for the cashier?” You asked, and he turned to face you, chin bumping into your forehead when you refused to move your head.

“ _Babe_ ,” he says pointedly, and you have to laugh, because if you don’t you think your chest might ache a little, “I just want company, it’s not that complicated.” 

Except it  _is_  that complicated. Being around him like this has reminded you how good it felt to be with him. It’s been almost three months, and you’ve forced yourself into the habit of reminding both of you that it was fake, that it was for attention, and even if you were  _really_ friends again, there was nothing  _real_ about the romance. It was getting on his nerves, now that you were closed to the end of filming.

“I know that this isn’t real.” His grip on the steering wheel is white knuckled as he drives to McDonalds. “I get it, okay, I know what’s happening, you can stop reminding me.”

“It’s not all for you, Ben.” Voice soft, you lean back in your seat. He’s parked, but neither of you feel the need to leave the car. 

“What? You’re reminding  _yourself_?” He asked, and you made a noise of affirmation, and he’s quiet for a long time. 

“Half the time, if I don’t remind myself, I just forget.” You  _refuse_ to be embarrassed or ashamed by that. “We didn’t actually break up that long ago,” you reminded him; it had only been about two years, “so I’m sorry if it’s weird for me.” 

“It’s weird for me too, okay?”

* * *

_Your final scene of the Season has you laying in a hospital bed. There’s no words, just the steady beat of a heart monitor that’s going to be added in post production, and a shot of Ben’s face before he leaves, slamming the door to lean against it with his face in his hands._

_You fall asleep about five minutes into filming, and it’s only when Ben comes and lays down beside you on the hospital bed that you wake. Apparently they’d already filmed three takes. His eyes are red-rimmed, but he’s smiling._

_“Don’t cry for me.” You tell him, gently teasing, laying your head on his chest and yawning loudly. He wraps an arm around you.  
_

_“Tell that to the writers.” He snorted, his hand rubbing gently up and down your arm. “I don’t know how you can sleep through all this.” He mused, and you give him a deadpan look.  
_

_“Well_ someone  _didn’t let me get a lot of sleep last night.”  Though your tone is accusatory, your smile is playful, and Ben refuses to meet your gaze, a blush rising on his cheeks._

_“I’m not going to apologise for that.” He says, tone lofty, though his voice drops to a murmur. With a giggle, you press a kiss to his jaw, murmuring that he shouldn’t need to apologise anyway._

_When he looks at you, looks past the makeup they’ve put on you to make you look sick and weary to the way you’re grinning at him, and he kisses you gently, his finger beneath your chin, lifting your lips to meet his.  
_

_Ben’s called away a few moments later, and you see the woman playing Lauren smirking at him from the door frame. Ben rolls his eyes at her as he climbs from the bed, telling you over his shoulder that he’s sorry he disturbed your nap, and you laugh at that, shuffling into a comfortable position as one of the crew members came over and straightened the hospital blanket around you._

* * *

After the two of you talked in the McDonalds car park, things have become easier. There’s no more reminders, not in the traditional sense; when it’s just the two of you, he calls you dude, and you call him buddy, and neither can take the other one seriously. He almost snorted beer from his nose when the two of you grabbed dinner at a pub and you’d told him;

“You look cute tonight,  _buddy_.” 

Low effort, low pressure, you let yourselves fall into the role of best friends who occasionally kissed when in public. It’s not even weird when you remember little details about one another from when you were together, it was more fond than anything else.

“Ben, settle an argument for us,” they’re on the set of Freddie’s first apartment, and you weren’t actually in the scene, but you’d been bored out of your mind at the hotel you were staying at and came along to watch the recording. Ben was sitting beside Lucy on his phone on the brown leather sofa in the middle of the set, while Rami and Joe were laying side by side on the mattress by the piano, and you were behind the camera with Gwil, trying to touch his wig, and getting your hand slapped away every time, as if it were a game.

“Is this the most impractical bed,” Joe parroted the script, and Lucy’s delivery, to which the actress rolled her eyes with a goodnatured smile, “or just a genius designing his room to best suit his own creative feng shui?”

“Why would you ask him?” You call over as Ben considers thoughtfully for a moment. “He designs his living room about how to best minimise glare on the TV.” You snicker, and Ben looks like he’s about to protest, but then his expression changes and he’s nodding in agreement, before adding.

“The bed’s impractical though, I keep kicking my shin against it.” He adds, and when the boys are giving him a confused look, surprised that he agreed so quickly with your words, he shrugs. “We lived together, she knows what my living room looks like.” He says, as if it’s explanation enough, and honestly, it is.

* * *

_“Do you ever think about getting married?” The two of you are curled up on his sofa one evening, binge watching something forgettable on Netflix, and your whole body freezes. “Christ, calm down, I’m not asking you, I’m just curious.” There’s a laugh in his words, and you let yourself relax._

_“Maybe one day, when I’m a bit older.” You muse, sighing softly and leaning further into him. “When I stop playing crack whores and murder victims.”_

_“But you play them so well.” He says, with all the fake-enthusiasm he can muster, and you shove him in the ribs.  
_

_“Oi, I’ve got more range than that.” You huff, before settling back down. “What about you?” You ask, and he lets out a low, long hum.  
_

_“Haven’t really thought about it much.” He admits, and you make a noise that’s halfway between amused and confused.  
_

_“What’s got you thinking about it now?” When you ask, he tightens his grip on you, just a little, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.  
_

_“Not really sure.”_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fake Dating AU

Roger Taylor has barely spoken two words to you since the start of filming, and it’s caused you so much anxiety. Were you disappointing? Did you not look or act accurate enough? Sometimes you catch him watching you when you’re with Ben, the two of you in costume, and he just looks… pensive. 

Brian’s nice enough, soft spoken and always kind when he speaks to you, actually mentions that seeing you and Ben together makes him a bit nostalgic, and you’re not quite sure what to make of it. 

The day you see the real Amanda, the woman you’re playing, you feel like you’re about to pass out. It’s as if you’ve got a direct look into your future, she could be your mother, though her hair’s just a little lighter than yours, hence the wigs they keep putting you in. She’s incredibly beautiful for her age, but that’s not the most striking thing about her. She cries the first time she sees Rami in costume, and she doesn’t speak to Roger. 

The moment she meets you, she has to take almost a full minute, hand covering her mouth as she looks you over. It’s like a test, and all you can do is stand there awkwardly in full costume, watching as she tears up a little.

“What do you think?” Brian asks with a proud smile, and she lets out an incredulous laugh. “It’s a little uncanny, isn’t it?” Nodding, she approaches you, smiling brightly and greeting you warmly. 

“Feels like I’ve gone back in time.” She’s surprisingly soft spoken, and she tugs at your collar, straightening it, before she rests her hands on your shoulders. “I’m flattered they’ve got you playing me, dear.” She tells you, and you think you might cry.

She only stays on set for about a week, the week you’re filming on the Garden Lodge set. The two of you are talking before filming starts for the day, you’re trying to glean any information you can that would help bring depth to your character, and Ben joins you. It’s the first time she’s seen him in full costume, and when he presses a kiss to your temple in greeting, her voice dies in her throat. Ben looks confused, concerned as she has to excuse herself.

It keeps happening, something about seeing the two of you in costume, together and sweet, it’s something she can’t stomach. She can talk to Ben normally, even when in costume, but the moment you arrive, and he smiles at you like he does, she feels her heart in her throat.

“I loved Roger, perhaps to my detriment.” She admits, taking a long sip of wine. She’d invited you out to dinner with her before she has to fly back to her family. “And I know what they’re saying in the movie, but he never really loved me.”

When you go to Ben with this information, he’s quiet, before he admits that Roger told him that when they were younger, their relationship was far from the sanitised version that was being presented in the film. 

They’d been together for years, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that she loved him, and he took her for granted, always assumed she’d be there when he got back from trips and tours, he’d even proposed to her, and yet he’d do any pretty young girl while he was away because he knew he could get away with it. He’d cheated on her, and lied to her, and strung her along because it was easier than letting go. 

Roger Taylor can’t bring himself to speak to you; you’re the spitting image of his biggest fault. Perhaps the way they’ve got it in the movie is his attempt at an apology, not that she’d accept. 

Something about your relationship with Ben changes after that. It doesn’t feel like a performance, the way it used to, it feels more grounded. Neither of you are sure how to deal with the new information, but when the cast go out for dinner together, he’s got a hand on your knee under the table, and when you’re hanging out in his trailer between scenes, you let yourself fall asleep against him where you’re watching Netflix. The two of you go out with some of the others for the night, and he kisses you as you’re leaving the club together, his hands holding your face so softly, the kiss so surprisingly tender that you don’t even hear the click of the paparazzi’s camera from where they’re hiding around the corner of the building, and when you see the kiss on instagram the next day, you don’t think you care.

* * *

_“Have you seen my nice, black blouse?” You called, elbow deep in a pile of clean washing on a Saturday morning._

_“Which one?” Ben calls back from the shower, and you frown at the clothes before you; you really had meant to fold them sooner._

_“The_ nice  _nice one, the one I wear for callbacks, you know the one I’m talking about.” And you move to rifle through the closet again, glaring at each piece of clothing as you flip past it._

_“You sure it’s here?” The shower shuts off while you’re eyeing off a perfectly fine cream shirt that could serve as a decent replacement if you came to it. “Are you sure it’s not at your place?” He asks, stepping out of his adjoining bathroom wearing only a towel._

_“No, I’m pretty sure I came back here after my last callback.” You mused, and you could hear him getting changed behind you as you tried to recall the last time you’d found yourself in the shirt in question._

_“This would be easier if you just lived here.” He muses, letting the statement hang in the air. After a beat, you turn to look at him, brow creased as you considered his words. “If you want to, you can.” He offered, standing there in just a pair of jeans, his hair still damp. It might be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen._

_“Are you serious?” Voice quietly hopeful, your expression brightens as he nods, grinning. Blouse forgotten, you cross the room in a few paces, throwing your arms around him. “Really really?”_

_“‘course I am.” He doesn’t tell you he loves you, but it’s there in the tone, in the way he kisses you, and it’s there when he spends the next twenty minutes helping you look for your shirt, though when you admit you don’t need it for a few days, he suggests breaking in the bed to fill the time._

_“It’s the same bed.” You laugh as he flops back on it, coaxing you over._

_“Yeah, but it’s_ ours _.”_

* * *

The wrap party for  _Bohemian Rhapsody_ is… a lot. It’s a bit overwhelming; you’re by Ben’s side and  _everyone_ wants to talk to him, congratulate him, and they want to talk to you, tell you how beautiful you look. Everyone is everywhere at all times, and the only constant is Ben. 

His arm is around your waist when the two of you are standing by the bar, he’s chatting to someone who’s name you’ve forgotten, though you’re pretty sure he’s the second assistant director or something, and you’re trying to communicate to the bartender what you want over the music, leaning over the bar. The moment the bartender finally nods in recognition and scurries off to get your drink, Ben turns, sees your eyes shining bright in the light of bar, and he forgets what he’s saying, just for a moment. The guy he’s talking to leaves, pulled away by someone in the crowd, and you turn, smiling brightly, confusion creasing your brow when you see Ben watching you.

“ _What_?” The bar is in a terrible location, far too close to the band they’ve got set up, but Ben can read your lips well enough in the bar’s fluorescent lights. He shrugs, doesn’t even attempt to answer as the band, not ten feet away, blast their way through a guitar solo. They’re mostly playing classic rock, a few Queen songs here and there of course, and they’re not bad, they’re just  _loud_. 

With your drink in one hand, you take his without thinking, weaving through the crowd, his fingers linked with yours. When you find the door to the courtyard, which is significantly quieter, you feel like you can breathe again. The air outside is cool, and you drop Ben’s hand now that you’re not likely to lose him in the crowd, and the two of you find seats to the side by a tall table. 

“You don’t have to stay with me all night.” You tell him, resting your head on your arms, watching as he lights up a cigarette. It was a filthy habit, but damn if it didn’t make him look a hot. Hotter. 

“I know that, dude,” he pauses, taking a draft and looking, watching all the people talking and laughing and bopping along to the music, “I like your company.” He says it easily but it still has you grinning, and when he catches sight, he grins in return.

He doesn’t leave your side. Not for the rest of the night. 

Photographs are being take all night, and when you look back on them, you see you and Ben sitting side by side, his arm around you as you lean into him, laughing, and he grins at something off camera. You see the cast together for a group shot, all smiling brightly, most a little tipsy, and you’re holding Ben’s hand, your linked fingers just visible in a gap between Allen and Lucy. You see the two of you in the background of a shot of Rami looking absolutely ecstatic; you’re fixing Ben’s hair, and he’s giving you such a soft, endeared look that you hadn’t noticed at the time. If you crop it enough to make it your phone background, you don’t feel the need to call attention to it; for reasons you can’t quite articulate, it makes your heart warm.

It’s strange, and the thing that terrifies you is that it doesn’t feel like acting. It’s that grey area you keep finding yourself in, where it feels so familiar, and it’s like swimming upstream to remember that it’s all fake. 

The two of you don’t even share a kiss, not even when you’re both tipsy, not even when you lean in to murmur something in his ear, and his answer brings his lips inches from yours. You want to kiss him, to forget that it’s all fake, but he sees you hesitate, and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. Lips twisting in to a sad smile, you look out at the crowd of coworkers around you, dancing where the band had been replaced with a DJ, and you take another sip of your drink.

You’ve passed tipsy and dived straight into being drunk by the time you’re ready to head home, or well, back to your hotel room, but that required a taxi. Ben’s not much better off, and when you tug him into the back seat with you, he doesn’t argue. He’s the one who tells the driver the hotel they’ve got you all set up in, and you just lean against him, eyes fluttering closed, contentment filling you as he wraps his arm around you. 

“I don’t have any makeup wipes!” You gasp into the silence of the hotel elevator. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to head to his room, your arm tucked into his to keep you from swaying in place in the elevator. It might also be that Ben refused to let you be by yourself after you almost face planted getting out of the taxi.

“I’ve got some in case of emergencies.” He assured, fidgeting with his key card before the elevator comes to a stop.

“See, this is why I love you.” The words come so easily that neither of even catch at first as you make your way down the hall. Ben slows once your words have sunk in, and you both realise what you’d said. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.” Voice quiet, there’s a sudden sinking sensation in your chest that dampens the whole night for you, but he doesn’t say anything, just opens the door and starts rummaging through his suitcase for the wipes once he’s inside. Once he tosses them to you, he follows it quickly with an oversized shirt to sleep in. 

There’s a solid five minute argument about who would sleep on the sofa, both of you trying to give the other one the bed. It takes you yanking a pillow from the bed, laying on the sofa and refusing to move for Ben to concede defeat. The sofa, however, is the single most uncomfortable piece of furniture you’ve ever had the misfortune of trying to sleep on. Sucking up your pride, you clutch the pillow to your chest as you make your way to the edge of the bed. He’s turned away from you, engrossed in his phone.

“Ben?” You ask, and he looks over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised in question. “The sofa is really uncomfy.” You pouted. With a grin, he shifted, making room for you.

* * *

“ _Holy shit.” Ben looks like he’s just seen a ghost. The two of you are in a nice restaurant in the city, it’s not five stars or anything like that, actually it happened to be your favourite little hole-in-the-wall restaurant with surprisingly good food and excellent service, and you were treating yourselves to a night out before Ben had to step outside to take a call. You didn’t begrudge him, that’s just how life was for the two of you. “_ Holy shit _.” He repeated, and you looked up from your meal with raised eyebrows._

_“What’s up?” You ask, and to see the smile spreading slowly over his face has your heart warming. When he meets your eyes, he’s beaming._

_“I think I’m going to be in X-Men.” He said quietly, and your fork fell from your hand, clattering against your plate._

_“Holy shit.” You echoed, and he laughed a little, taking your hand when you offered it to him, squeezing gently._

_The stars seem to shine a little brighter as Ben beams up at them, your hand in his as the two of you walk home. Sure, there’s paperwork, nondisclosure agreements, rehearsals, and a few months until filming actually begins, but Ben’s landed a role in a high-budget action movie, and you’ve never been prouder._

_He spends the next few weeks in countless meetings, almost constantly in and out of phone calls with his manager and various producers, and when he’s not filming with Eastenders, he was usually training. He’s barely home, though neither of you are home a lot, you’re busy with your own projects, but when you see each other, he’s_ elated _. You haven’t seen him this excited or motivated about a project before._

_Sometimes you miss him. Of course you miss him, you love him after all, he’s your boyfriend and your housemate, and you tell him all of this over dinner and he looks like he wants to say something, like he wants to freeze this moment in time forever, to bottle it up if he could.  You’re so proud, and you love him so much, and it’s the most beautiful thing in the world to watch those two parts of you coming together over a microwave dinner._

_In the weeks leading up to filming, things change, and you feel like you never see him anymore. It’s not like before, then you were just busy, now he’s all over the country, in meetings and fittings and workshops. He calls, but your bed is so empty and sometimes you just want to come home to him and he’s not there, and_ he  _won’t be home until the end of the week. Things are still good and bright when you see each other - he’s always eager to make up for lost time - and you never once doubt how much he cares about you, but you feel… out of sync._

* * *

The two of you had fallen asleep not facing each other, but you wake with his arm draped across you, and it feels so familiar, so  _right_ , that it stings when you actually come to and realise where you are. 

It’s been years since you’d woken up next to him, and you’d forgotten how pretty he is in his sleep. Part of you thinks that’s a good thing, that if you start to remember now you might keep dwelling. Another part of you urges you to go back to sleep; pretend or not, you should savour this moment you’ve missed so dearly. That’s the part that wins.

You expect when you wake again, for him to already be up and moving, as far away from you as possible, but instead you hear a sleep-rough greeting in your ear, and feel his chest firm against your back, his arm still around you where you’ve tucked yourself against him.

It’s not pretend, it feels like history repeating itself, and so you let yourself forget it’s fake for the moment, lean into him just a little and give a sleepy greeting back. Your heart already aches knowing how lonely you’ll feel once either of you move.

“I forgot how nice you smell.” He murmured, and that’s when you feel your heart already beginning to break. Instead of letting yourself crumble, your link your fingers with his hand where it’s slung over your waist.

“I forgot how warm you are; you’re like a furnace.” And you hear him laugh at that as he leans into you too, and let yourself bask in the moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I massaged the timeline a little bit, just suspend your disbelief, perhaps it only takes 4 months to be in post production. Also yes I know X-Men didn’t actually film in Egypt, but I didn’t know that at the start of this fic and now I’m sticking with my mistakes because momma didn’t raise a quitter but she did raise a fool.

“You’re not proposing to me in a sheer shirt.” The moment the makeup team leaves, you turn on Ben, amusement tugging at your lips as you cross your arms, cocking your hip.

“You don’t like it?” He asked, the picture of innocence as he fiddles with the cuff of his jacket. You raise a singular eyebrow. “I think you  _do_ like it.” He hummed, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. When you refuse to break eye contact, your silence is answer enough. “I think you like it a lot.” 

It’s been almost a four months since shooting officially wrapped, two since you’d filmed the last of the pick up shots they’d needed, and a full month since you and Ben seen each other in person; you’d been busy with a Netflix series, and Ben had been in talks about a new project, and you’d been messaging every day but seeing each other in person is… well there’s something different. Playful. Easy. Somehow neither of you seem worried about the looming proposal, and are just making up for lost time.

“Love, you’ve gotta take it up with the stylist, not me.” He shrugged, as if helpless, and turned, making his way to the door, knowing without even looking that you’ll be following behind him. He’s chipper, brimming with excitement and looking damn good, and once he gets to the elevator and pushes the button, he offers you his arm while he waits.

“Marry me.” He says it suddenly, watching the numbers of the elevator tick up to your floor. There’s no-one around, and the ring is still in his pocket.

“What?” With a frown, you step into the elevator, and press the button for the lobby, still tucked up against him.

“What if we just show up engaged?” He asks, hand in his pocket where he’s fiddling with the ring box. He’s not nervous, just contemplative.

“And deprive Swarovski of their moment?” You scoffed, and he tipped his head to look at you, eyebrows raised in exasperated amusement.

“I  _know_ you hate the ring,  _‘too gaudy, too ostentatious by half’,_ isn’t that what you said?” He snickers after doing as half decent imitation of you. Giving him a shove, you duck your head to hide your embarrassed smile.

“It’s so ‘ _look at me! Look at me!’”_ You huff, and he can’t help but laugh at that. The sound of it, in person rather than over Skype, made you feel, for lack of a better phrase, like you were home. Not that there really was a better phrase, you just didn’t want to think about or admit how much you’d missed him.

“Sorry to say, dude, but there’s nothing more ‘ _look at me! Look at me!’_  than a red carpet proposal.” And yeah, okay, maybe he had a point, but that was  _one night_ , you had to wear that ring until… they hadn’t told you the DVD release date, but you’re pretty sure it was some time in the New Year. When you bring this up, he just rolls his eyes. “You’re not the one getting down on one knee for a fake proposal; I’m gonna look like an idiot when this is all over.” 

“Well fine, if you’re so worried, I’ll propose.” Instead of dwelling on his words, you step away, holding your hand out expectantly. When he just stares at you, bewildered, you motion for him to hand the ring box over, and he finally cracks a grin, shaking his head.

“If you think I’m gonna be caught dead in that ring you’re wrong.” He spluttered, and you can’t help but laugh at that.

“Fine, I won’t take your first proposal away from you.” You hum with a smile, tucking yourself back against him. He goes  _very quiet_. It takes you a few moments, but you look up at him, brow furrowed. He seems lost in his own thoughts. “It- Ben you’ve never been engaged before, I feel like I’d know if you had been.” Your words snap him out of his trance and he looks at you with wide, bright eyes, and an unconvincing smile.

“Yeah, no, I would have told you by now otherwise.” The silence that falls around you in not a comfortable one, and you’re glad when the elevator comes to a stop. “I got close once, though.” He admits, quietly. You don’t know how to respond to that; you hadn’t considered how much those words would hurt. You want to ask with who, but you already felt an unreasonable rush of jealousy at the thought of someone else stealing his heart enough for him to want to be with them forever.  _Unreasonable jealousy_.

* * *

_Filming for X-Men started a week ago and he’s only called you once; he’s on a film lot somewhere in Canada and his hair is curly and god he looks cute but the apartment feels so empty. He’s bright eyed and excited. He’s rambling about how busy he is, and he’s still wearing his makeup. The call lasts five minutes; the cast are going out for dinner. You tell him to have fun, but you’re heart’s not in it; he can sense it, and promises to call you tomorrow, before he hangs up._

_He doesn’t call, part of you isn’t surprised._

* * *

“Marry me.” He asks again, voice low in your ear. The others in the car can’t hear him, but part of you is afraid they might. They don’t technically know it’s not a real relationship, though part of you thinks Gwilym has his doubts, not that he’d ever voice them.

“Not the time.” You shoot him a warning look, and he just slings an arm around you, leaning back in his seat. 

“You’ll regret not letting me be low-key about it.” He warns in return, giving you a blithe smile, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“Low-key about what?” Lucy asks, and you elbow Ben in the ribs. He keeps smiling, though his mischievousness slides to something more fond as he actually looks at you.

“About anything.” You say by way of explanation, and though she, along with the rest of the car, still look confused, they don’t push it. There’s reporters  _everywhere_ when you get out of the car, and you and Ben are the last ones out.

“Last chance before this becomes a spectacle.” He murmurs when he steps out after you, straightening the back of your dress just a little, and he sounds amused, but there’s something genuine in his voice, and you take a moment to pause, turning back to him. His hands land on your hips, his touch light, and his expression is so  _familiar_ it hurts, and you realise he is a little nervous; it’s a very public setting for what should be a very private matter. With cameras going off all around you, you pull him in for a kiss, and he relaxes somewhat, kissing you back with his grip tightening on your hips.

“We’re being paid to be a spectacle.” You remind him, and he nods, smiling softly, and the two of you make your way down the  ~~red~~  purple carpet together. You have to stop every few feet to do interviews, and soon enough you had pulled ahead of Ben; he had a much larger part in the film that you did, it wasn’t surprising the reporters wanted to monopolise him. It still felt strange, to turn and not have him there. Sometimes you’d do interviews with the other boys, sometimes he’ll be there, and as the main photo area loomed, you could finally feel the butterflies in your stomach.

Soon.

Perhaps too soon.

* * *

“ _What do you mean you’re going to Egypt?” You snapped, wishing your internet connection was better so he could see you glaring clearly._

_“I told you about it ages ago.” Ben sighs, clearly tired. It’s there in his eyes, how drained he is, how hard he’s been working, and your expression softens.  
_

_“That’s exciting,” you force yourself to take a breath, it was the first time you two had spoken that fortnight, neither of you needed this to be hostile. The days had started feeling so long when you don’t hear from him; all you want is a damn hug and he’s on the other side of the world. “What if I come visit you?”  
_

_“In Egypt?” He asks, eyebrows raised.  
_

_“In Egypt.” You confirm, a weak smile on your face, he doesn’t look thrilled by the process.  
_

_“Don’t bother.” He sighs, and the moment he sees your expression fall, he realises how his words had sounded, and he’s sitting up straight, panicked look on his face, spluttering his way through an apology. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just busy and it’s going to be hot and-”  
_

_“No, I get it.” Your dejected sigh was followed by a yawn, and you hovered over the end call button. “When you’re less tired I think we should talk.” You tell him, and you see the confusion, fear, and resignation pass over his face in quick succession.  
_

_He agrees quietly, and neither of you really say goodbye before hanging up._

* * *

He was tapping on your shoulder as you were halfway through talking to  _E! News_ , and you’ve never been more anxious and excited in your life, and never so thankful to not be at the main photo area on a red carpet. His timing was perfect.

“So sorry, could I borrow Y/N for a minute?” He smiles charmingly at the reporter, and his expression softens when he sees the relief in your eyes. 

Before he even starts, it feels off, feels  _wrong,_ feels like a performance for the cameras more than anything else. 

“Don’t get teary on me, I know how hard your makeup artists worked.” He begins, and you make sure the cameras catch your surprised confusion. He’s takes one of your hands in his, linking your finger together, and the other holds your face. There’s a moment that passes between you two, his expression softens as he looks in your eyes and it’s as if he’s looking past everything that had happened, the whole setup you’d found yourself in; he was seeing  _you_. 

“This is probably the biggest night of my life,” he starts, taking a deep breath, “for more than one reason; you’re my best friend, you’ve been there for some of the highest points in my life, and some of the lowest. I know you, Y/N, I feel like I’ve known you my whole life, and I  _want_ to. I want you there by my side for the rest of it,” it sounds… so much more planned out than you’d expected, so much more heartfelt, and you’d be damned if there weren’t tears in your eyes. Despite the fact that this very private moment had a huge audience, which included a reporter muttering ‘ _holy shit, is this what I think it is?’,_ you could only see him. Damn if it didn’t feel real.

“I love you; I’ve loved your since-” his voice catches in his throat, and you see a hint of pain flash across his face before he’s smiling again, “since I first saw you in that damn wig they put you in,” it sounds like an addendum, like he doesn’t really mean it, or like it’s not the whole truth, but it’s enough to make you laugh, and when you look down to hide your embarrassed smile, your tears fall from your eyes, “since you agreed to all of this,” he gestures to himself with a self-deprecating grin, though his double meaning is not lost on you, though his expression turns serious after a moment, “since I first kissed you on set, though that feels like a long time ago.” Your breath catches in your throat, and he sounds like he hadn’t mean to say that last part, his voice too raw, his heart too honest for it to be a truly fake statement. You can do little more than whisper his name in reverence. Gently, so gently, he lifts your head, his thumb wiping the tear track from your cheek. 

“Marry me?” It’s a question this time, and when you look at him with confusion, disbelief written on your face at the way he chose to word it, he laughs softly, sinking to one knee and pulling out the ring box, and revealing the single most frivolous ring you’d ever had the displeasure of seeing. “ _Will you_ marry me?” He corrects softly.

The crowd behind you is going absolutely mad behind you, and cameras are going off at an almost blinding rate, but his eyes don’t leave yours. Nodding, you can’t even form words, so caught up in the moment, and he stands, pulling you into a kiss. The flash of cameras surround you like a sea of stars and Ben’s the only thing keeping you on solid ground. His grip is tight enough that he almost lifts you off the ground, and you’re on your tiptoes with his arms around you before his grip loosens, his hands sliding down the small of your back, and for the first time since this whole fake relationship began, he doesn’t hesitate before he deepens the kiss. He tastes like mint and you’re so glad you’re wearing that twenty-four hour lipstick or you know you’d be a mess, and when you pull back, you’re both out of breath, looking at each other with a something akin to awe in your eyes.

You’re pretty sure, in this moment, you love him; nothing fake about it. And you can see it in his eyes that he loves you too. This is dangerous territory for you both.

Stepping back, he takes your hands again.

“I told you not to cry, love.” He laughs gently, voice so soft as you dab at your eyes with your right hand, watching as he slides the ring onto the ring finger of your left hand.

“What can I say, you have a way with words; how long were you working on that speech.” You sniffle, grinning brightly as you examine the ring, still holding his hand. After a beat too long of silence, you look up to see him smiling softly at you.

“A while.” He admits, and something about the way he says it makes your chest ache. The moment passes and he looks down at your joined hands. “That’s fucking hideous.” He whispers, shaking his head at the sight of the ring, and you giggle, preferring to throw your arms around him, kissing him again.

The two of you are the last two to arrive at the formal photo area, with the logo backdrop, and Joe’s grin is confused where he greets you both at the edge of where everyone was in a line getting a group shot.

“What was all the commotion over there?” He asked quietly, and Ben stepped into position easily, slipping an arm around Joe’s shoulders and pulling you in. You were still beaming, you couldn’t help yourself.

“We got engaged.” Ben murmurs to Joe, careful not to draw attention to them, which was immediately counteracted by Joe’s loud ‘ _What the_ fuck _?!’ “_ Calm down, man, we didn’t want to take all the focus off of the premiere, you know?” 

As soon as the big group shot was taken, you stepped off to the side as the four boys had their photos taken, and you could see Joe murmuring to the others, while Ben just smiled for the cameras and tried not to blush.

Photos were taken with Brian and Roger, of Rami and Lucy, and even some of you and Ben, and when you posed, you both had an arm around each other, and you leaned into him, resting your hand on his chest with your ring on clear display.

There’s congratulations all around as you’re heading into the theatre, but the biggest shock of the night comes in the form of Roger Taylor wrapping you up in a hug while you’re still glowing with pride.

“Before we go in, I want you to know you did an incredible job, dear. You’re a stunning performer and I never had any doubts about you.” As he says it, you can feel Ben give your hand a gentle squeeze. You’re pretty sure you’ve got shock written all over your face. “I’m very proud of you both.” He claps Ben on the shoulder, and Ben thanks him quietly. It looks as though he’s about to head in, but he turns back. “Be good to her, you hear?” He says to Ben sternly, but there’s a glimmer of fondness in his eyes, and Ben rolls his eyes good-naturedly. He’s still holding your hand.

“ _What_ was that?” You breathed as soon as Roger had left; you feel like you’ve been doused in cold water, though you can’t help but smile.

“Well I think he definitely approves of you playing Amanda.” Ben moves to wrap an arm around you as the two of you head into the theatre, searching for your seats. “And I think… I think he gave us his blessing?” That sounds more confused than anything else, and you don’t know how to respond one way or the other, apart from softly laughing as you sit down next to Lucy. Part of you, the largest part that had stayed sane and not drunk on this fake engagement, is pretty sure Roger’s going to be the hardest to break it to, when everything’s over; part of you worries that without Ben, you’ll lose his approval, which you didn’t realise you’d been craving until you’d received it. There’s an anxiety that builds in your chest as the lights go down, but Ben’s hand is in yours and you lean your head on his shoulder, and you can ignore that little worry for now.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter with some light smut at the end. Also we’re all out of flashbacks.

If there was one environment you thrived in, apart from, you know, actually being on screen, it was recording press junkets. You loved talking about your work, but more than that, you loved talking about how hard your costars and the crew all worked, and loved to hear your friends and colleagues talk about their work. It was something about the shared passion and excitement that came from the anticipation of the worldwide release date after seeing the final product that just made you  _glow_. 

That being said, this wasn’t your movie, or, okay no, it was your movie, you  _were_ in it, they had you along for the interviews alongside the four lead boys and Lucy, but you were sat at the edge of the interview sofa, and were content with letting the others lead the interviews.

You had your standard replies, of course, when they’d asked the group questions; your favourite Queen song, the song you’d wished had been in the film, your favourite moment on set-

“Slapping Ben,” you’d always announce, without hesitation, leaning forward on your chair with amusement shining in your eyes, before elaborating that the scene had never made it into the final cut of the film. It had been part of a larger montage which had been cut due to the rating of the film.

They’d even cut the footage together, and shown you a rough draft of the final scene, since they considered putting on the DVD. The montage began slowly, preceded by a shot of Ray Foster telling the group to be careful, that he knows what sort of lifestyle leads, and Brian assuring him that they’re professionals. It cuts to a shot of the band on stage at a small venue with the opening squeal of the guitars of  _Stone Cold Crazy._ Then it inter cuts the band playing on stage with other shots; Mary introducing Amanda to the band, of John being confused and dismissive of the groupies fawning over him, of Roger saying something to Amanda and she slaps him across the face for it and storms away, of drinks being cheersed, of Mary and Amanda dancing in the crowd while Freddie sang with wild abandon, of more cans of drink being opened and of the band sculling drinks, of a groupie trying her very best to sit in Brian’s lap with another behind him and he seems like he doesn’t know where to look but also like he’s very much enjoying himself, of Freddie slapping the bar and ordering another round of drinks for everyone while Roger approaches Amanda in the background and she looks none too impressed, of John bopping as he was want to do along with the beat whist grinning and clearly inebriated, almost falling off the stage. It ends with an over the shoulder shot of Brian opening the door to the bathroom, only to see Amanda and Roger making out by the sink, with her legs around him, and Brian turns and leaves as soon as he enters.

“Yeah, you really did  _not_ hold back.” Ben half laughed, rubbing at his cheek as though he could still feel a phantom sting, and you lean into him with a grin.

“I had to make it look real,” you told him sweetly, before giving him a nudge, “and it’s not like you didn’t earn it.” And he turned a little pink as he has to explain how for each take, he’d try some new, in-character line to warrant the reaction from you, though the line itself wouldn’t be heard for the music of the montage. When asked which line had been in the take they’d used, and Ben flushes darker, clearing his throat and pointedly saying he can’t remember, while you just flashed the camera Cheshire cat smile, and they moved on to the next question for times sake.

Sometimes they ask about your relationship and the two of you make a show of being forthcoming and candid with your answers, especially since the reporters haven’t done enough research to know about your history. It’s easy just to lean against him as the others talk, his arm around your shoulders. 

“I wanna meet Frankie.” You tell him during lunch, you’re hovering by the craft services table eating the sandwich they had made for you. 

“Hold up, that might be moving a bit fast,” he jokes, giving you an amused smile, sandwiching a piece of cheese between two crackers and putting it all in his mouth.

“Yes, of course, we should take things slow.” You snicker, and he tries to say something around his mouthful of food, but it doesn’t come out right, and the two of you just dissolve into laughter as he reaches for his water. After he’s done spluttering, he takes a deep breath, clearing his throat.

“’course you can meet her.” It had been less than a week since the premiere, and you knew that soon enough you’d both be getting back to your other projects, but while you were together, you wanted to at least play the part of happily engaged. 

The two of you don’t usually leave together, or if you do, you take separate cars, citing busy schedules had left you without enough time to move in together, and that you still had work to do at your own homes. The truth was, and you weren’t sure if Ben had picked up on this yet, you were avoiding going to his apartment, and as soon as the interviews are over and you’re headed to the parking garage, you feel the anxiety beginning to twist your stomach into knots. 

The roads are familiar as the two of you are driven back to his place by one of the studio’s drivers.

“I don’t have to meet her tonight, it’s been a long day.” You hear yourself saying, fiddling with your ring. The ride had been strangely quiet, even Ben had been rather standoffish, though perhaps he’s just having the same thoughts as you. 

“Yeah, I mean, I’m still here for another week, that’s plenty of time.” He responds, and you’re sure he must have mentioned leaving at some point, but you can’t recall, and your heart sinks a little.

“Plenty of time.” You agree quietly, before turning. “Where are you going?”

“Italy, for  _Six Underground_.” He explains, and it sounds familiar, but between his apartment getting closer and this revelation, your anxiety only seems to increase. Reaching out across the empty middle seat, you play with his hand to distract yourself; something about being in contact with him eases your discomfort.

“You’re going to Italy?” You ask, shooting for casual, and something about the way you say it is all too familiar. The car stops.

“I told you about it ages ago.” He says, and the two of you  _freeze_ as you’re hit with such a strong sense of deja vu it’s almost physically painful. The driver announces you’d arrived. As if moving on autopilot, you get out of the car, moving to wait by the entrance of the building.

“Hey,” Ben calls out as he’s scrambling from the car, flustered and a little distressed at the memory, and you turn to him, blank-faced, running on autopilot. “Hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” He says, taking you gently by the shoulders. Shaking your head, you take the initiative, your hands coming to fold his face, pulling him into a kiss. He’s surprised for a moment before he’s kissing you back, warm and insistent.

“It’s okay, it’s different this time.” The kiss is short lived and your words are a little forlorn as you step back. Taking a deep breath, you force a smile onto your face. “Frankie?” Suddenly the idea of stepping foot in an apartment which you once happily shared with Ben wasn’t as daunting as heading home to dwell on your own thoughts.

Frankie’s whole body wiggles with excitement when Ben steps through the door, and as soon as you follow, she’s barking and sniffing and investigating you as you crouch down to greet her.

“She likes you.” Ben says fondly, watching as you sit yourself down in front of the now closed door, scratching Frankie behind the ears as she climbs all over you, trying to lick at your face, her little wet nose bumping excitedly against your chin.

“Hi buddy,” you murmur, using that voice that people use around pets, “hi,  _hi_ , I’m Y/N.” You laugh, and she yips happily back at you, shuffling in your cross legged lap as she tried to get a better spot to both sniff at you and get petted. 

“You gotta let me get a photo of this.” Ben chuckles, and you agree, still talking in that syrupy, pet voice. The photo captures the exact moment Frankie pounces from your lap to lick at your nose, her tongue out and your face scrunched up, and as soon as it’s taken, Ben’s doubled over with laughter. The sound catches Frankie’s attention, and she’s out of your lap in a flash, investigating the source of this new noise. 

Now, face covered in dog saliva, you stand, making your way to the bathroom to clean yourself up. After splashing water on your face, you grab a hand towel that you know will be hanging on the side of the cabinet without even checking, and you look up into a mirror and are hit with such a sense of deja vu that you feel winded.

“Hey, did you want to want to order some dinner, or were you gonna head off?” Ben calls, and you’re still staring at yourself, seeing your reflection from several years ago staring back. 

“Dinner.” You answer automatically, and snap yourself out of your trance when you see Ben in the reflection of the door frame behind you. “I feel like I’ve done this before.” You joke, and he gives a small, knowing smile, but can’t bring himself to respond. There’s something in his eyes, like he wants to say something but he’s holding back, and his gaze meets hers in the mirror. It’s weird to be back here.

Then there’s Frankie by your ankles, seemingly smiling up at you, and you bend down, scooping her up and breaking the moment. Ben’s grin widens.

“You’re so cute, but at what cost!” You groan, pressing a kiss to the happily wriggling dog, following Ben into the living room. It hits you like a truck when you see how little it’s changed; he’s moved things here and there, but that’s still the same sofa you’d lived your life on when this was your home, and it’s far too easy to curl up on it like you’d done a million times before.

Ben orders pizza, Frankie scampers from your lap to eat her own dinner, and you turn the TV on. It’s quiet and comfortable, Ben sits next to you and you lean into him out of habit, not that either of you was complaining. You’re halfway through the second episode of something Netflix had recommended when the pizza arrives, and he’s remembered your favourite toppings, and everything about this feels like  _home_. Maybe too much. Maybe you’ve been letting the lines blur between real and fake for a while. Maybe you can’t bring yourself to care right now.

With the leftovers in the fridge, you sit on the counter of the kitchen island as he puts the cups in the dishwasher, and you’re grinning, the two of you chatting over the sound of the TV in the background. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to grab his hand as he passes by, pulling him in for a kiss, his hands finding their way to your hips. When you break away, he’s smiling with just a hint of fond mischief in his eyes as he gives your hip a gentle squeeze. 

“I remember this.” You snicker, and he kisses you again, so neither of you can think too hard about what that means. 

Back on the sofa, he’s got an arm around you as your flicking through different recommendations, none of them really catching your attention. 

“That’ll be you, soon.” You snicker, poking him in the side as you flip through the Netflix Originals, which all had portraits of the lead characters. Ben laughed, only a touch self conscious, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

Frankie was asleep on the cushion beside you; it was getting late. 

“You can stay, if you want.” Ben offers, when you mention that you should probably be heading home. Considering his words for a long moment, you can’t look at him.

“I really shouldn’t.” You admit, and Ben hums thoughtfully, giving you a squeeze.

“That’s fair, do you want me to call you an Uber?” He asked, voice understanding, and you suppress a smile, finally facing him.

“I said that I  _shouldn’t_.” You reiterate pointedly, voice dipping low, you see his eyebrows raise in surprise. You’re the one to initiate it, leaning up to press your lips to his, letting yourself fall into the familiarity of it all. When he pulls you into his lap, you grin, threading your fingers through his hair as he trails kisses across your jaw and down your neck. 

He still knows you like the back of his hand, still gentle at first, a little hesitant as if he can’t quite believe this is happening, but you’re there, naked, in his bed, and smiling at him; he’s not sappy enough to believe his heart skipped a beat at the sight, but it definitely came close. It’s easy to fall into bed with him; he moans like music and to hear his groaned praise warms something in your soul that’s been dormant for a long time. 

He calls you darling with his head between your thighs, smirking up at you, and you roll your eyes with an exasperated smile as you both recall filming a similar scene in a very different setting. Reaching down, you card your fingers through his hair, and your heart stops in your chest for just a moment as you catch the glint of the engagement ring still on your finger, before he’s got his tongue on your clit and your eyes are fluttering closed.

Fucking him is fun, and somehow better than you remember; he’s got you laughing and moaning in the same breath, and the moment you start whimpering him name like a prayer, he all but growls, grip firm on your hips, and he presses a kiss to your collar, gently biting at the sensitive skin there. 

He’s leaving for Italy, and you’ve got a miniseries that starts shooting just a few days after that, and maybe you’re just trying to form some sort of connection because you don’t want to be apart. 

_You don’t want to be apart from him._

The realisation shocks you; it had been so easy to pretend to love him that you’d stopped pretending altogether. You’re close to falling asleep with his arm around you, like you had hundreds of times before in this very bed, and you realise that you need to do some serious thinking before this all comes to an end. For now, you just lean into him, and try to get some sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE FINAL CHAPTER. Me? Finished a series? It’s more likely than you think! I hope I stuck the landing, I’ve got a real soft spot for the ending tbh.

Frankie, that beautiful little bastard of a dog, snores.

You find this out on the second day of babysitting her while Ben’s in Italy, because you’d offered the moment the you’d left Ben’s room the next morning and Frankie had stopped wrestling with one of her toys to make direct eye contact with you, before bounding over to lick at your shins. She really did like you.

Your apartment wasn’t exactly small, and Frankie had taken up residence on the armchair by the window, that is, when she isn’t laying directly on top of you or beside you while you’re watching TV. The dog starts snoring at about three in the afternoon where she’s tucked up by your stomach where you’re laying on your side, it’s not loud, it’s mostly just cute, and out of instinct, you pull out your phone and video call Ben.

“Hey, is everything okay?” He looks a little flustered, and you realise he’s probably on set, and you immediately reassure him that everything fine.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you-” You add quickly, and Frankie’s little nose is twitching in her sleep, and she huffs. Ben cuts you off with a smile.

“You’re never a bother, babe.” He assures you, and he only manages to catch a glimpse of your quietly pleased smile before you flip the camera and he catches sight of Frankie. His whole face lights up, and his voice drops to a whisper at the sight of the sleeping pup.

“He snores!” You coo, and Ben’s nodding, biting his lip to keep from outright grinning as he watches the dog wiggle in her sleep. Flipping the camera back around, Ben’s adoring expression doesn’t fade as he gazes at you. 

“Did you just call to give me that update?” He asked, and your grin widened as you nodded, your fond gaze flicking to the dog, and Ben seemed somehow even more endeared. “Good, I always love hearing that my pup’s doing good.”

“How’s things on your end?” You ask, and Ben chanced a glance behind himself.

“We’re just on break now, in the middle of rehearsals.” He tells you, before you hear someone call his name on his end of the line. 

“Is that-” you have to cut yourself off from saying something that would definitely embarrass you as someone who you recognise as  _definitely Ryan Reynolds_ , Ben’s costar, asks if Ben’s ready to go. Ben takes one look at your face and his expression turns mischievous. 

“Yeah, sorry man, just on the phone to my fiance, Y/N did you wanna say hello?” He grins, and you hear Ryan’s incredulous ‘ _wait a second, I didn’t know you were engaged’,_ right before you end the call. It takes you a moment, heart beating erratically in your chest as you lay your head on sofa, hyper aware of how dishevelled you look, and the fact that you were almost seen by  _Ryan Fucking Reynolds,_ rom-com, comedy, and now straight-up action star, in your current state. Frankie blinks blearily at you.

“I’m gonna kill your dad.” You inform her with all the faux seriousness you could muster. She just yawns at you, and closes her eyes again. “Actually, good call.” And you settle in for a nap.

 _[sorry my phone died_ _😞_ _]_  You text him when you wake up from your nap.

 _[im sure that’s what it was_ _😂😂_ _don’t worry there’ll be a next time]_ You think you can almost hearing him laughing as you read his reply, but you can’t help but smile.

_[i’m sure there will be]_

You’re messaging almost constantly, when neither of you are busy, and it’s almost Pavlovian the way your heart jumps when your phone buzzes with the sound of a new message. He doesn’t call often, doesn’t have the time, especially not when you start shooting your miniseries for the BBC. You send each other photos from set, mostly pictures of you and your costars pulling faces in costume, which you realise too late that Ben’s probably going to show to Ryan Reynolds, but then he sends one of of himself and Ryan pulling some of the most unattractive faces as an explosion goes off behind them with the caption ‘BTS of a Serious Michael Bay Film’ and you maybe make it your lock screen.

The Bohemian Rhapsody Japan press tour kicks off, and you invite Lucy over for dinner when the boys suggest conference calling after once they land.

“Isn’t this Ben’s dog?” She asks, smiling as Frankie bounds over to her.

“I’m babysitting.” You say airily, checking the oven where the roast vegetables are crisping up nicely.

“How are things going between the two of you?” She drifts around the kitchen looking for cups before you point her to the right cupboard, and it takes you a moment to consider your words.

“Just fine, there’s a bit of snoring but it’s nothing I can’t tune out.” You reply airily, and she takes a moment, cups in hand, to frown at you.

“Ben?”

“Frankie.” You correct, and her confusion breaks as she rolls her eyes. “I- Luce, can I tell you something?” You say quietly, and she nods, putting down the cups and retrieving a the white wine she’d brought, pouring herself a glass before offering you some. After you politely decline, she puts the wine in the fridge and grabs you out the drink you tell her you’d prefer. “My relationship with Ben isn’t real.” You admit softly, pulling out plates from the cupboard and putting them on the counter. 

“Oh,” is all she can say, though she does sound genuinely surprised, “I mean, actually- really? I thought you two had been together before, doesn’t that make it strange?” She asked, and you have to stop for a moment, leaning heavily on the counter as you’re hit with the implication of what you’d said, and what you were about to admit.

“Super weird.” You agree, voice a little strained, and when you turn, Lucy can see the tension in your shoulders.

“What? What’s wrong?” She asked gently, coming over to you, concern written all over your face. “Did he say something? Did something happen?” 

“No, I mean  _yes_ , we slept together a few weeks ago, but-” and you worry your lip for a moment as Lucy has to suppress a smile of her own, it’s as if she knows what’s coming, “okay it started out fake, but I- Lucy I’m pretty sure I love him. Like genuinely, like I used to,  _love him_ love him.” 

Lucy hugs you tightly, and it feels like a weight has been lifted from your chest being able to finally admit that to someone who was actually human, rather than a very excited dog. As the weight is lifted from your shoulders, an anxiety begins to creep into your chest.

“Tell him.” Her voice is firm when she steps back, and you nod seriously.

“I know.” You’re quiet, trying to move past her to check on the vegetables again, but she holds your shoulders firm.

“ _No_ ,” she repeats, “you need to tell him, you need to get to him and tell him,” she’s adamant about that and you finally break free, grabbing a tea towel and a fork and checking to see if the potatoes were cooked through.

“I have his dog, and we’re still under contract, I don’t need to go to him.” You huff.

“Y/N what are you afraid of here, can’t you see the way he looks at you-” She tries, but you’re anxiety is  _so loud_. 

“It’s acting, Luce, okay? I’m worried that it means nothing to him still, and I’m going to look like an idiot.” Heart in your throat, you focus on plating up dinner, hands steady.

“Do you hear yourself? Y/N have you seen a picture of the two of you together? Half the time you look more like a couple than Rami and I do, and we’re  _actually_ dating.” She laughed, voice growing quiet as she absent-mindedly moves to scrub the tongs you throw in the sink, before putting them in the dishwasher. “Also, if it’s worth anything, people don’t usually sleep with their exes, especially ones they’re fake engaged to, if there’s  _no_ feelings.” She adds, taking her plate that you offer to her, and the two of you set up at the dining room table, waiting for the call from the boys in Japan.

You conference in with Ben once the boys call, and you’re quiet for the whole conversation, though only Ben seems to notice. You mostly get away with it by eating your dinner in small enough bites that it lasts for the whole conversation, and you take the time to think on what Lucy had said.

[ _you okay? you seemed off_ ] Ben texts well after the call ends, and you’re tucked up in bed, Frankie laying by your feet.

[ _you got a free day ahead_ ] [ _?_ ] [ _i need to talk to you_ ] You send, heart in your throat, and the only response you get is a date; you’re booking plane tickets less than five minutes later.

The only thing you bring to Italy is Frankie, because you didn’t want to leave her without anyone at home for a few days, and supplies for her. When you text Ben, after what feels like an  _eternity_ of radio silence, he doesn’t seem happy to meet you in the lobby.

“You didn’t need to come all the way to do this; could have done it over the phone like last time.” He grumbled, bending down to greet Frankie instead of looking at you, and you realise what conclusion he’s jumped to.

“This isn’t like last time.” You tell him, voice firm enough to shock him; he looks up at you in surprise. Heart hammering against your ribs, you gently put down Frankie’s travel case, “this  _isn’t_ like last time.” Ben stands, regarding you carefully as you suck in a deep breath. 

“I think I love you, Ben.” The words hang in the air between the two of you, and he seems like he’s not sure how to react. 

“Really?” Part of him is still running on his earlier conclusion, but all you can hear is doubt.

“I-” But your expression falls, and you go to pick up Frankie again, ready to leave on the first flight back, “forget I said anything; you know what, forget I was even here. This was dumb, I knew-” But before you can take the handle, he speaks.

“I love you too.” He tells you firmly, and you pause, standing up straight, looking at him with a disbelieving expression. “Have done for years; I honestly thought you’d never want anything to do with me after we broke up.” 

“Ben-” you whisper his name, your lip trembling, but his expression is still hard.

“I love you, Y/N, I’ve meant it  _every time_ I’ve said it, okay? And if you’re bloody joking, or if you’re here as part of that agreement, I don’t care how much they’re paying me, I don’t want to be a part of it-” The thing about Ben on screen is that he’s very good at playing like he’s close to tears, but there’s something so raw about seeing it in right in front of you. 

“No, this isn’t a trick, I love you, Ben,  _I love you_.” There’s tears in your own eyes, and you need to reach out to him, to touch him, to remind him that this is  _real_. The moment your fingers brush his hand, he looks down, and his gaze returns to yours, disbelieving and surprisingly bright.

His expression alone is a silent question, a disbelieving ‘ _really’_ that he doesn’t need to speak to be heard by you; this time  _hopeful._ You nod, teary smile making it’s way onto your face. He takes your hand gently, and you step into his space, his free hand coming to hold your cheek, his eyes searching your face for any sign that this was a ruse, but all your giving him is adoration and  _love_. 

In the middle of this hotel lobby, you kiss him like it’s the closing scene of a romance novel, desperate and joyous in equal measures. With your heart soaring, it’s as if his arms around you are the only thing holding you to the Earth. 

You whisper that you love him as he wraps you in a tight hug, his face pressed to the crook of your neck, and you lean into him, carding your fingers through his hair. When you hear him murmur an almost awed reassurance that he loves you too, you hold him tighter. 

The months between the grand, romantic gesture, and the Golden Globes pass far too quickly. Once he wraps on  _6 Underground,_ he’s back in London, and it only takes him a few weeks to invite you to move in. 

“We’re already fake engaged.” He reasons, but you say yes anyways. His flat already feels like home.

You spend New Years Eve together, partying it up with some friends, and he dips you for the New Years kiss, which has you flustered and giggling, which was  _exactly_ the reaction he’d been going for. 

The two of you get ready for the Golden Globes together, and he’s speechless at the sight of you dressed to the nines for the event. Not that you weren’t a little overwhelmed, he looked  _damn_ good in a suit. 

He’s fidgeting the entire car ride to where the after party was being held, where the others were waiting. He’d been surprisingly quiet; you knew he was nervous, but this seemed like something else entirely. The real source of his contemplative mood comes when you’re all watching the beginning of the award ceremony itself. He’s got an arm around you, holding you flush to his side, and you’re resting your head on his shoulder.

“You remember how I proposed to you at the premiere?” He asks, so quiet only you can hear. The moment the words leave his mouth, your heart begins to beat a little faster with sudden anticipation, and not from the awards. Making a soft noise of agreement, you wait for him to continue. “I meant everything I said-” 

“Ben you are  _not_ proposing to me at the Golden Globes.” You laugh under your breath, and when you chance a look at him, he’s beaming, amused.

“Well I’m not getting down on one knee if that’s what you’re thinking, I’ve already done  _that_ in public.” He’s pulling a velvet box from his pocket-  _how_ had you not noticed that? “Unless you want me to.” He adds with a cheeky smile, and you can feel tears welling in your eyes. “Don’t get all teary on me, love.” He discretely opens the box, and sitting inside is a ring you feel like you’ve been dreaming about since you were a kid. 

“How… this is  _perfect_.” You say gently, and looking up at him, he’s gazing at you with love and fondness.

“Bought it a few years ago; was gonna ask back then but then… then things went to shit so I kept it around for if the right woman came along,” after a beat he added, “or came back.” And you’re crying now, silently praising your setting spray, and he’s smiling at you. “Marry me? For real this time?” He asks quietly, and you’re nodding so ferociously it makes him laugh. You’re wrenching the ugly ring from your finger, shoving it into your purse as he takes the real one from it’s box and slides it on your finger. God, he really picked the biggest nights to do this, didn’t he?

When you’re kissing him, elated and a little frenzied, Joe tells you with fond exasperation that you’re both too gross for the public, but he doesn’t know what’s just happened. None of them do. And for now, with Ben pulling you closer and that ring on your finger, you can’t bring yourself to care.


End file.
